His Soul Torn Asunder
by MelanaAdara
Summary: A tale from Ragnarok Island. A dragonrider faces his worst nightmare
1. Chapter 1

It was a bad fall, made worse by the weather. Fierce gusts of wind blew clumps of thread here and there making it impossible to predict. It was inevitable that injuries would be bad. Time and again dragons ducked between to free themselves of the lethal thread before it could devour their vulnerable flesh. Most, thankfully, were soon back in position, too many though, damaged enough to necessitate returning to the weyr.

T'lor didn't see the clump headed for him until a screamed warning made him look up. Zirth swerved, trying to avoid it but succeeded only in exposing his belly to the voracious mindless killer. T'lor could feel his agony as they went between.

"Back to the weyr!" he yelled.

"Take us back to the weyr!"

They came out of between mere yards above the bowl. He could feel himself slipping from Zirth's back as they fell, hitting the ground side by side. Stunned by the impact he felt strong arms pulling him away from his dragon, leaving room for the healers to do their work. But it was too late, he knew that before they could. The thread had eaten too deeply into Zirth's body for the cold of between to reach it.

"Let him go," he sobbed through their shared agony.

"You can't help him."

The healers moved away as Zirth struggled to his feet and with his last effort pushed himself far enough off the ground to go between. As the dragons began their keening T'lor collapsed in the arms of the men who held him, his soul torn asunder by the loss of his lifemate.


	2. Chapter 2

How To Mend A Broken Soul

It was like dragging himself from a deep pit.

Each time he tried he got a little further, a little closer to the light, before falling back into oblivion.

He wasn't sure he wanted to reach the top, the clear light of reality. There was a reason he was here in the darkness. He couldn't remember why, didn't want to remember, of that he was sure. Reality was pain, emptiness, loss. The darkness was warm, comforting, concealing. The dark didn't need him to feel anything. The dark wouldn't hurt him.

Each time he slipped the voice begging him not to give up became more insistent, more familiar.

"T'lor! You have to wake up. You can't stay like this forever. Please. We need you. I need you."

Reluctantly he forced himself to climb that last short distance into the light, aware of strong familiar hands reaching out to help him. He opened his eyes and left the dream world behind.

The room was shadowed, with barely enough light to show the man slumped in a chair near the empty hearth.

"M'rek?" his voice was hoarse from disuse, but still enough to be heard.

His weyrmate aroused, turning his head towards the bed, and smiled.

"T'lor, I'm glad to see you awake. How do you feel?"

Memories came flooding back, unwanted, soul-destroying memories.

He sat up and stared at M'rek.

"How do you think I feel?" he demanded bitterly.

"My dragon is dead, my life is over. I'll never be whole again. You should have let me die with Zirth."

He couldn't stop the tears as they began to flow, blinding him, streaming down his cheeks. M'rek moved to sit beside him, wrapping his arms round him and pulling him close. He said nothing, simply offering the silent comfort that T'lor needed.

It seemed forever, but eventually T'lor's tears eased. He made no effort to pull away from M'rek's hold, the older man's arms offering the same comfort they always had. From the first moment so many years ago when T'lor had learned the harsh truth that where his dragon chose he must follow, his weyrmate had been there for him.

"T'lor," M'rek said at last.

"I couldn't just let you die. I had to give you the choice. If you still choose to follow Zirth I won't try to stop you. You have the right to make that choice. Just bear this in mind. There are a lot of people here who will miss you, who will grieve for your passing. Think of Jessie, your children, all those your life has touched. We don't want to lose you."

M'rek stood up and took the knife from his belt, laying it on the bed beside T'lor.

"Make your choice, love. I won't speak of it again."

He walked out through the curtain that closed the living quarters from his dragon's couch.

T'lor watched him go before picking up the knife. He turned it in his hands examining the design. He knew it well, it had been his gift to M'rek last Turn's End. And now M'rek was offering it as a gift of death if he chose to use it. For a long moment he was so tempted, it would be so easy to turn the blade on himself and with one thrust end his pain forever. But at what cost? How could he do this to those he loved?

With a convulsive sob he threw the knife across the room.

"M'rek!"

His cry brought his weyrmate back to his side.

"I can't do this alone. I need you. Please don't leave me alone."

"Never, love. You'll never be alone. Not so long as I'm here."

**Not alone. I am here.** It was the voice of M'rek's dragon, green Sorelth.

**I am here.**

**I am here.**

**I am here.**

Again and again the voices echoed in his mind from the Weyr's dragons.

And T'lor knew he would never be alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Life With Half A Soul Is Only Half A Life  
It was a sevenday since T'lor had made the choice to live. And still it wasn't any easier.

T'lor awoke secure in M'rek's embrace, his weyrmate's body warm and comforting against his. He opened his eyes to daylight and the sounds of the Weyr going about its daily life. He made no effort to move, it felt good like this, how it always had been. And for a moment he almost felt happy.  
Then he remembered and the tears began again. At once M'rek's arms tightened round him, pulling him closer, his lips brushing against T'lor's tousled blonde head as he whispered what comfort he could give.  
"Hush, T'lor. It'll be all right. I'll make it right somehow, I promise."  
"How? How can you make it right? You can't bring Zirth back, no one can. And without him I can never be whole again. How can I live my life with half a soul?"  
"We'll find a way."  
Gently M'rek kissed T'lor.  
"Urgh, I don't know how you can put up with all that fuzz on your face. It itches when I kiss you."  
At that T'lor gave a weak smile.  
"It stays, so stop complaining."  
T'lor's beard had been the one thing they disagreed over for as long as they'd been together. He'd grown it after being teased that he was far too young for M'rek, and insisted on keeping it despite his weyrmate protesting that their age difference didn't matter.  
"Time to get up, love," M'rek said then.  
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving. They'll be serving breakfast in the dining hall now."  
"I'm not sure I can face them."  
"You have to do it some time, love. You can't hide away up here forever."  
"I know, but..."  
"I'll be with you. You won't have to do it alone."

They took their time crossing the bowl to the lower cavern because T'lor was still weak and unsteady on his feet.  
Together they entered the dining hall, M'rek with his arm around T'lor's shoulder supporting the younger man. He led him to a table where others of their wing sat.  
"Sit, T'lor. I'll get our food."  
He did as he was bid, sitting silently with bowed head and hunched up shoulders until his weyrmate returned. M'rek emptied the tray he was carrying of its bowls of porridge and mugs of klah then sat down. He pushed one of the bowls in front of T'lor, frowning when he made no effort to eat.  
"Come on, love, you need to eat."  
"Maybe you should have just let him die," someone said from the other end of the table.  
"He's no use to the Weyr now."  
M'rek half rose in his seat, angered at the cruel remark. Only a firm hand on his shoulder held him back.  
"Let me handle this," their wingleader, T'gan, said, having arrived in time to hear.  
"I won't have a member of my wing talking like that, J'ris. Don't let me hear it again, from any of you. You are excused, J'ris."  
"But I haven't finished my breakfast..."  
"I think you have. Unless you'd like me to assign you extra chores?"  
"No, wingleader. I'll go."  
T'gan watched the man go, then fetched his own breakfast from the hearth and sat down opposite M'rek and T'lor. He ate a few spoonfuls of his porridge, then paused and gazed thoughtfully at the former bluerider.  
"You should really eat that while it's hot. You need to build your strength up again. Then we can find you something to do. You are staying at the Weyr, I take it?"  
T'lor nodded.  
"Good. We'd hate to lose you. Now the first thing we need to know is what we should call you now."  
"Wingleader!" M'rek protested.  
"No, it's okay. He's right. I can't be T'lor without a dragon. I know that."  
The young man looked up at the wingleader and met his concerned gaze squarely.  
"I was Tanelor before," he said softly.  
"I can be Tanelor again."


	4. Chapter 4Learning A New Life

Tanelor watched T'gan's wing take off and circle over the Weyr before going between. He stood there watching the sky for long moments after they'd gone, his fists clenched, breathing and heart-rate accelerated. He couldn't help it, every time M'rek left the Weyr it was the same. And this time it was just a patrol they were flying.

The first time he'd watched his weyrmate leaving to fight thread he'd suffered a full-blown panic attack and had taken most of the fall to get over it. The Weyrleader, while sympathetic to his situation, had told him it couldn't happen again. Everyone had to pull their weight during a fall.

Since then he'd done his best to keep his emotions under control. But it wasn't easy. And he didn't expect it to get easier. What could ever fill the hole that Zirth's loss had left in his life?

He heard footsteps behind him but didn't bother turning to see who it was.

"Tanelor?" said a quiet voice behind him.

"What do you want?"

"The Weyrleader said you need to find some work to keep you busy."

"What of it?"

"I could use some help in the forge."

Tanelor turned then to stare at the brownrider smith.

"I know nothing of smithcrafting."

"Not a problem. What I need is someone to keep the forge supplied with coal, work the bellows for me, assist where needed really. My blades are proving popular, both in and outside of the Weyr, but I can't keep up with the demand and carry out my duties as a rider without some help. So what do you say? You can't officially be my apprentice because I'm still a journeyman, but I'm willing to teach you if you're willing to learn."

For a moment Tanelor was silent, then slowly he nodded.

"I've never learned a craft. I was born a weyrbrat and impressed at fifteen. There was never time for anything else. But Zirth was all I needed.

"But now...now I need something, something I can do that will keep me from thinking, keep me from remembering."

"Well I can certainly work you hard, but it can't be all the time. My duty to the Weyr takes precedence."

"Yes, Wingsecond, thank you. I accept your offer."

"Good. Come with me."

L'san set off across the weyr bowl towards the coal bunker without waiting to see if Tanelor was following. He picked up one of the full sacks that stood beside the door, hefting it to his shoulder with the ease borne of years of practice. Only then did he turn to look at the other man.

"Grab the other sack, and we'll get them over to the forge, then we can discuss your duties."

He watched in silence as Tanelor struggled to lift the other sack. The ex-bluerider wasn't that much older than L'san, two maybe three turns at most. He shouldn't have found lifting the sack that difficult, bearing in mind the exercise that was part of their daily routine.

"Stop," he said.

"Tip some of that out, until you can lift it easily."

"I can manage."

"No, you can't. You haven't fully recovered. Tanelor, if you push yourself too hard, you'll make yourself ill again. Do as I say."

L'san wouldn't give in until Tanelor did as he was told. In the end he removed maybe a third of the sack before the smith was happy that he could carry the sack without straining himself. Only then did they head to the forge.

By the time they reached there Tanelor had to admit L'san knew what he was talking about. Breathless, he dropped the sack and straightened, rolling his shoulders in an effort to ease the pain.

"You'll get used to it," L'san commented.

"It took me a while too. Mind, I was just an apprentice, only a boy, when I started. Now, let's get this coal in the storage bin and I'll show you what's what."

Tanelor nodded, grateful for L'san's matter-of-fact attitude. More than anything he hated the sympathy from people who couldn't possibly understand how he felt.

By the time they left the forge an hour or two later Tanelor's head was reeling with the amount of information he'd absorbed. He hoped he'd remember enough of it to not appear an idiot when he started working.

Above them he heard the rush of wings as T'gan's wing came out of between at the end of their patrol. For the first time since it had happened he went to meet his weyrmate with a smile on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

5\. Mating Flight Without a Dragon

It was still dark when Tanelor was woken by a chirp beside his ear. Drowsily he opened his eyes to see a gently whirling blue/green eye surrounded by brown hide, L'san's fire lizard.

"Go 'way," he muttered.

"I'm still sleeping."

Closing his eyes he rolled over and tried to snuggle up to M'rek again, but the pesky creature wouldn't let him be. This time it tugged at his hair, hard enough to hurt.

"Ow!"

"Tanelor, just go with the damn thing," M'rek mumbled sleepily, "then I can go back to sleep."

"But it's still dark..."

"Your fault, love. You should've done those chores last night like L'san told you. He said he wanted an early start because he had training today. Now go."

Grumbling, Tanelor got out of bed, tucking the covers back round his mate, and fumbling in the dark for his clothes.

Dressing quickly in the cold air, he passed Sorelth with barely a glance and hurried down the ramp to the bowl, stopping off at the kitchen to grab a mug of klah and a slice of bread.

The smith was already in the forge working on a commissioned piece. As Tanelor entered he glanced up and bid him good morning.

"Huh!" Tanelor muttered.

"It's still the middle of the night. I can't think why you like starting this early."

"You were told to have the forge ready for me by breakfast time. That gives you about two hours. I suggest you get started. I have limited time available and I need to make the most of it."

For a moment Tanelor stared in disbelief at the smith, then swallowing the last of his breakfast he got on with the work. He was annoyed at being dragged out of his bed at such an unearthly hour, but M'rek was right. He'd agreed to work for L'san, it was up to him to do the job properly.

He pushed himself hard and a few minutes before the deadline he was able to tell L'san,

"Everything is done."

"Thank you, Tanelor."

The brownrider set down the blade he'd been working on.

"This is pretty much ready for delivery now. Let's go get breakfast."

Tanelor agreed readily, what he'd had earlier hadn't really been much of a meal.

Dawn was lightening the sky as they walked across the bowl to the kitchen. Neither man spoke. Tanelor was still smarting from the rebuke he'd received earlier, and L'san was still unsure how much leeway he could give his assistant. Only time would tell how well they could work together.

As they sat eating other riders and residents drifted in for their meals. Tanelor kept a look out for M'rek, but his weyrmate didn't appear. That wasn't like him, he was usually up and about bright and early.

As they walked back to the forge Tanelor looked across the bowl to M'rek's weyr. Sorelth lay on her ledge but there was no sign of her rider. L'san noticed his glance and his sympathy went out to the older man. For as long as the brownrider could remember Tanelor and M'rek had been together, their dragons always mated. Had Tanelor realised yet what the Weyrleader and other riders knew, that sooner or later Sorelth would rise to mate and it would not be Zirth who flew her. Another dragon, another rider would claim the prize.

"Come along, just another couple of hours and you can go to him."

"Yes, Wingsecond. It's just that... I know she'll rise soon and without my Zirth... I don't think I can face seeing him with another man."

"You'll get through it. You're strong enough."

"Am I?"

Tanelor tore his gaze away and continued on his way. They were halfway across the bowl when Sorelth skimmed low overhead on her way to the feeding grounds. Tanelor stared after her, bemused, half imagining that his thoughts had prompted her action.

"No, please, no," he moaned, distraught.

"I can't take this."

He turned but before he could run L'san grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back towards the lower caverns.

"You're not going through this alone," he said.

"You have friends who will stay with you."

Tanelor was scarcely aware of what they were doing. He didn't see that J'than, Z'kiel and Hestia were heading the same way. They met at the entrance, the three green riders surrounding Tanelor and leading him to a nearby table. J'than held a couple of wineskins and a stack of tumblers. Pouring wine, he handed it round. Tanelor downed it in one gulp and held out his tumbler for a refill which J'than readily supplied.

If he couldn't take part in this flight, the former rider decided, he was going to drink enough that he would be past caring.

L'san raised his glass, but stopped with it halfway to his lips.

"Shards!" he swore.

"Carynth has decided to join in."

"Go," J'than prompted.

"We can handle this."

The brownrider set down his glass. He turned towards the entrance, then changed his mind as an idea occurred to him.

"Don't let him drink too much yet," he whispered to J'than.

Only half aware of his friends L'san let his mind link with his dragon as he pursued the green, watching as one dragon after another dropped out. The flight was swiftly over, Carynth, despite his years was still one of the swiftest dragons in the Weyr. And maybe he had told Sorelth the suggestion that L'san had shared with him. At any rate, Carynth caught her and they joined in their mating.

L'san turned to Tanelor.

"Go to him," he gasped.

"Be with your mate."

"But..."

"Go!"

L'san turned to J'than, knowing that his weyrmate would give him what he needed as Tanelor hurried outside. He pulled M'rek away from the group of bewildered riders and led him into the nearest flight room.

"Tanelor, what are you doing?" his lover asked.

"Hush, M'rek. L'san gifted this to us. Don't question it."

Neither said anything more as they came together, first in a loving kiss, and then in the mating. But neither would ever forget the wonderful thing L'san had done for them.


End file.
